


wounded lips and salted cheeks

by espinosas



Series: newt lives [1]
Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Newt Lives, Sonya and Newt remember each other because fuck canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 13:21:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13482351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/espinosas/pseuds/espinosas
Summary: Thomas ran a hand over his face.Newt was missing. Again.Or, a fix-it fic in which Newt lives to the end, as it should have been.





	wounded lips and salted cheeks

**Author's Note:**

> Hellooooo.
> 
> First - it is currently 2am, so I apologize for any grammatical errors in here. (I'll be editing this properly tomorrow when I'm not half asleep!)
> 
> This fic is based purely on the final Death Cure trailer, I had gotten almost the entire thing written when the deleted scene of Newt and Thomas came out - hence the one reference to it. I suppose you could say this is a mix of my own interpretation, the book, the movie trailer. Also, my first try at smut, shield your eyes!

Thomas ran a hand over his face.

Newt was missing. _Again._

He caught Brenda’s side glance in the midst of Vince’s speech and turned toward her. She threw a raised brow in his direction. Her hand twitched where she sat on a deck chair, just an arms’ length away, as though she was battling with herself over what to do.

She chose instead to duck her head before looking up again, dark eyes focused on a spot behind him, lips pressed together in a shadow of a smile taking shape in a grimace.

“He just needs space,” She whispered into the air between them, face assured. “He’s probably fine, you know how he is.”

She barely knew him, even after a year in each other's pockets. _You don’t, not like I do_. This isn’t who Newt was in the slightest. Newt was the first to throw himself into debate, somehow providing reason and support to opposing sides, the glue. The Newt he’d grown close to would have been the first to their meeting and the last to leave, determined to get through every section to their plan.

He swallowed down acid, something bitter and raw and _panicked_. He wanted to scream in her face, panic eating away at his stomach. He refrained - giving a stern nod as she watched with her lips pressed together.

Newt had been disappearing more lately. Not only physically. Even when in person, his face was stripped of genuine emotion more often than not, teeth worrying into chapped lips.

It didn’t take a genius - and Thomas knew he was as far from that title as humanly possible - to figure out he was struggling. They all were, but Newt even more so. He ate little and often, shooting smiles that fell the minute attention drifted away from him.

He had turned up to the meeting, their final before they ventured into the last city, formulating a plan that, admittedly, had more stability than any he had come up with in the past year. He’d left as soon as he’d entered, muttering off an excuse and snapping at anybody who dared to approach him.

And so, Thomas was worried.

He excused himself with a curt nod to Vince, a reflected smile to Brenda that he hoped conveyed an apology. Once he was out of the area that everyone had collected in, save for a couple people on watch for WCKD, he halted. Where would he be?

It didn’t take long to find out exactly where his friend was.

Newt sat at the edge of a slab overseeing the ground below, feet still where they dangled and his hands shaking in his lap.

He lifted his head at Thomas’ approach, rolling the sleeve of his jacket down over his forearm. Thomas caught sight of black veins starting to climb up his wrist.

Newt looked back to the ground beneath. “Sorry, I couldn’t stay in there.”

Thomas felt bile rise in his throat.

Newt opened his mouth to speak again, but Thomas pushed in before he had the chance to speak. “How long?”

Newt’s head dipped, chin tucked into his chest, eyes pressed shut. “Not that long.”

Thomas insisted, lip wobbling. Each word of the query was drawn out and louder than the first time he’d spoken. “How long, Newt?”

It was quiet for a moment, save for his own, labored breathing as his chest wracked with each sudden breath that came quicker than the former. Time stood still.

“Back in the scorch, right at the start, when we thought we’d been saved. They injected me with this blue klunk. Serum. Like the bloody stuff made for Griever stings.” He snorted a laugh without humour. “Didn’t take me long to realize why I was the only one who got it. Then this stuff started showing up all over me. I can feel it, itching away in my buggin brain.”

“But, how- I mean, you were- ” Thomas’ voice died in his throat, words choked up and riddled in fear as he grasped at straws that died in his throat.

“I’m sorry, Tommy.” Thomas’ chest constricted as Newt spoke, barely above a whisper. The older boy looked so tired, no, he looked _exhausted_.

_You can’t give up. I won’t let you._

“ _God_ , don’t be.” Thomas’ feet carried him forward on autopilot until he was crouched by Newt’s side. He knocked his knee with his knuckles, noticing crumpled paper in the blonde’s hand. “What’s this?”

“Nothing.” He inhaled sharply, tears stuck to blemished cheeks, taking a second to himself before he spoke again. He looked down at his feet. “It’s for you, but not... Not yet.”

“I won’t need it,” He took the note into his palm, tucking it into his pocket. His hand fell to Newt’s knee, squeezing the joint. He found himself running his thumb over thin denim, unsure of whether the rhythm was to calm himself or Newt more.

“I convinced myself that this was alright, you know, that I’m fine with it. I’ve not exactly been the most enthusiastic about living in this Hellscape anyway.” The older boy looked up then, eyes rimmed red and glossed over with moisture. When he spoke next, it was so quiet that Thomas thought he’d imagined it. “The scariest part is I don’t even know how I feel.”

“Hey,” Thomas made a grab for his Newt’s hand, intertwining their fingers. He ignored the black swimming in his veins. He ducked his head, hair in his eyes, making sure to keep eye contact with Newt. “Somewhere safe exists out there for us, like you said, I’m gonna get all of us there, I have to. You, included. Minho, Teresa. I can’t do any of this if you’re not with me.”

Newt crumpled. He fisted the material of Thomas’ jacket. His face fell into Thomas’ neck, and the younger felt the each vibration of each, individual sob wracking his body. Thomas’ hands came to Newt’s back automatically.

It was silent for a while, save for Newt’s heavy breathing, and Thomas allowed himself the temporary satisfaction of closing his eyes to everything but the hands snaking their way around his back underneath his jacket.

He heard bird call in the distance, maybe a minute later, and almost laughed. Newt must have heard it too if the watery snort in his ear was any indication.

“At least the flare didn’t rid the world of bloody screeching crows ready to upstage the moment.”

“I think it’s nice,” Thomas chuckled, running his fingers in circles between the boy’s shoulder blades. “I think I listened to them when I was a kid, I dreamt about it once. It’s nice to know something other than us and WCKD survived this.”

Newt hummed, wiping at his cheeks. He lay his head back on Thomas’ shoulder, cheek pressed to the clothed limb, warm breath fanning his throat.

“Wonder if we’ll find any dogs out here.”

Thomas grinned, “I wouldn’t mind a cat. A shuckin’ parrot, maybe.”

Newt barked out a laugh, skin by his dark eyes crinkled. “You still sound bloody ridiculous when you say Glader klunk like that. Minho would laugh in your stupid face.”

Thomas didn’t pay attention to the insult, focused on the blonde’s lingering grin. It was the most he’d seen the boy smile in weeks. “I know he would, and he will. He’ll probably kick our asses for being dumb enough to mix up the train cars.”

Newt’s smile fell a little, strung together by the scrunch of his nose. He studied the younger’s face in the soft, evening light: slight freckles dotting his nose and a kaleidoscope of moles climbing his jaw, doe eyes following Newt’s own.

“Tommy,” He spoke again, voice assured. “I would follow you anywhere, y’know? No matter the cost, I would.”

Thomas pressed his mouth to Newt’s hair without a second thought, unthinking of anything but the warmth of the fingers snaking around his back beneath his jacket and the steady rhythm of his pulse thrumming beneath Thomas’ palm.

+

Jorge was confident that the journey to the last city would take them two days in total.

Newt was better the first night, even joining everybody where they gathered to pass the time. Nobody mentioned the veins, and for that Thomas was immensely grateful. They hadn’t mentioned Thomas’ hand atop Newt’s either. He’d left the main area after eating, excusing himself with a headache.

Thomas followed.

Newt was near-enough asleep when he got there, on his stomach with his arm thrown across the comforter.

“You knew I’d follow?”

“Banked on it,” Newt quirked one eye open, giving a delicate nod. “I’m freezing. Get your arse in here.”

Thomas snorted a laugh, climbing in the bed beside him in an instance, almost tripping over himself in haste.

Newt rolled his eyes. He pulled Thomas’ arm to wrap around him, his hand coming to rest in the midst of Newt’s chest. He came to hold Newt’s hip with the other, goosebumps following the subtle tracing of the skin there.

He had to get Newt to Paradise, had to get him help somehow. _He would._ He dread to think about the alternative.

He tried not to think too hard about just how pronounced Newt’s hip bone was where he held him.

They would find Minho in a day's time. Teresa too, if she even wanted to be found. One thing was for sure: everything would change for good. For all of them.

For now, he relished in the snoring beside him and the slumber that gripped him.

+

The body Thomas was wrapped up in was warm and soft against the skin of his stomach when he woke.

He didn’t know what it was - perhaps the vibrating lull of the engine and his back being closer than Newt’s to the wall, or, more likely, the lack of hustle and bustle that came with the Gladers  - but he woke at peace.

No sudden shout from one of the boys beside him at an oncoming threat, not a single groan or muffled giggles shared few and far between. He’d long since grown used to it, even missed it at times.

Soft breathing is all that he can hear. A natural blend of body heat seeping past his skin and settling deep in his bones, in pairment with the weak sun filtering through square windows above them, warms him all over. The arm strung over his chest and the way their legs mingle with ease, like a ritualistic past time, only serves to warm him further.

It takes a second or two for him to blink away the sleep cornering his eyes. His lids drag over them as he blinked away the morning light burning away at the moisture. He moved to wipe a hand over his face, the action quickly halted when Newt pressed closer. His mouth found Thomas’ clothed collarbone, eyelashes fluttering as he came to.

This wasn’t exactly new to him. They’d grown used to the close quarters in the Glade and after, or therefore lack of any, sharing sleeping space was simply what they were accustomed to. And besides, distributed body heat was good, right?

Fuck, he wasn’t even convincing _himself._  He’d wanted him since that night by the log, Newt painted in golden embers and smelling of smoke for days after. He wanted their bodies pressed together, intertwined, wanted them to be as intimate as two people can be. How could he even argue otherwise?

Thomas found himself running a hand through Newt’s hair, golden in the morning light that coated them both, still curled over his forehead. A smile danced on his lips at Newt’s ministrations. He let out a sigh, fingers tight in their grip on Thomas’ sternum, blunt nails digging into the area before being released again as he stretched, not unlike a cat.

“Mornin’ Tommy,” is mumbled into his neck, stretched lips and bared teeth pressed into the skin of his shoulder.

He was _grinning._

“Hey there,” Thomas wanted for this moment - more than anything since they’d left that damn maze - to stay. He yearned for the boy tangled up with him, the pull fucking overwhelming.

 _While you still can._ He shook the thought away, couldn’t think about it at all. He moved his hand from where it lay in Newt’s hair, journeying across soft skin and skirting a sharp jaw. He tilted Newt’s face up by his chin and dark eyes instantly met his own.

Newt’s smile was gentle, subtle, teeth pressed into his lip, the first breach of sunshine in the midst of pouring rain. Or something like that. All Thomas knew was that it had his chest constricting.

“Hi.”

Thomas’ fingers were still on his chin, a soft pressure hardly felt. Newt turned his face, languid in his movements, eyes on Thomas still as he pressed soft lips to the digits. Thomas’ cheeks flushed, mouth open and jaw slack as he watched, transfixed.

Newt curled his own digits around Thomas’, pulling his hand up to the naked small of his back.

Newt pressed close, his hands exploring Thomas’ torso underneath his shirt. Chapped lips teased the skin below Thomas’ ear, and then the lobe. “Can I kiss you, Thomas?”

A soft whine filled the stagnant air as he nodded, insistent and quick. “ _Please_.”

Newt fell back, just enough for Thomas to lean in himself, if he wished.

Minute panic stemmed and settled in his throat at the sight. As far as he could remember - and it wasn’t much - his experience with kissing consisted only of the crank party with Brenda and the back of his own hand. He wasn’t happy recollecting either of those.. incidences. He had no idea what he was doing.

_But he wanted it._

He cupped Newt’s face in his hand, fingers interlocked in golden hair at the nape of the older boy’s neck, thumb lining his cheekbone. Newt’s eyes filtered shut, lashes brushing the tip of Thomas’ thumb.

Thomas lent up, catching Newt’s bottom lip between his own. A gasp followed, and Newt’s hands climb his body until they’re gripping at dark hair, pulling Thomas up and impossibly closer, as intertwined as two souls could be.

Thomas' hands immediately searched for Newt's hips, pulling their bodies closer as he returned the kiss, slow and chaste and open. Newt pressed the pad of his thumb into Thomas' bottom lip and pulled down, opening his mouth enough for him to slip his tongue in, and _God_ , he opened up to him without a thought.

He always would, only to him. Newt knew each and every intricate, raw, individual thing that made up Thomas as a person. And then some. Thomas never felt as vulnerable as he did when he was around him, subject to his spell, and he found he didn’t mind so much.

Newt tasted most of honey. Perhaps, the doings of Jorge’s hidden jar he kept in his pack, or perhaps it was simply Newt. Sweet, intoxicating. Thomas had fallen into his trap, or maybe it had always been this way - Thomas willing to follow Newt, no matter what, despite Newt’s claims that it was rather the opposite. Thomas was beyond gone for him.

Thomas broke away from the kiss, tightening his hold on Newt’s hips. He pulled the both of them up, Newt instantly wrapping his legs around Thomas’ waist and settling in his lap and over a _very_ distinct bulge.

The blonde’s own pressed into his abdomen. Just the mere thought of committing to an act so intimate, so raw, with the one person he’d wanted for as long as he could remember, it was too much and yet, he wanted nothing else.

The blonde barked out a laugh that he soon muffled, hiding a smile in Thomas’ shoulder. Thomas found himself doing the same. “What?”

“Been hopin’... A long bloody time... For this,” Newt spoke between lazy, wet kisses to Thomas’ throat, the younger unsuccessfully stifling a whine at the contact. Newt reached up a hand, running a nimble finger over his bottom lip with the stupor of a man as intoxicated as Thomas felt.

He was lost, swimming in a sea of honey. Newt tugged at his hair, eliciting a whine. Newt pressed his thumb into Thomas’ bottom lip, parting them, before pushing into an open mouth.

Thomas rolled his hips up, searching, his hands pressing harder into soft skin. He swallowed Newt’s cry, pulling away from a moment to mumble a shush into his ear, teeth catching on his ear lobe.

Newt whimpered as their hips met again, uncaring. “You think- _Christ_.. I give a shit what anyone thinks if they see us?”

Thomas leant back, lips still tingling, his entire body alight. “And what-” He choked back a groan as their hips met again, unpracticed and raw and everything he needed. “What would they see, exactly?”

Newt halted every motion but his hand in Thomas’ hair. He searched Thomas’ face, pants escaping swollen lips that turned up in a smile. He pressed his lips to the most prominent mole of Thomas’ side profile and when he pulled back, he seemed uncertain, looking up through eyelashes.

“They’d see-” He stopped, brows drawn up as he watched Thomas carefully, . “Tommy, I- I what I said - I meant it. I want you. Until-”

Thomas cut him off by joining their mouths again. He licked into an open mouth, each press of his tongue languid and deliberate.

_I’m with you, I’d follow you too, I don’t know how to go on without you._

Breathless in his ear, Newt tugged at the hem of his shirt and Thomas was all too eager to comply. Newt’s gaze dropped to dark hair than vined his abdomen and teased his pants. He mouthed at Thomas’ collarbone, teeth brushing the bone and making Thomas shudder.

His pants followed the path of their shirts and Newt’s own.

When he was inside him, Newt’s soft whimpers pressed into his neck, followed by lips and tongue and teeth, Thomas felt only warmth.

This was real.

Newt came first, beautiful face slack; eyes slipped shut, mouth open and taunting, cheeks full and brows scrunched up. He pulled on Thomas’ hair as he did so, healthy fistfuls, to pull him into a kiss that was more a press of mouths and intermingling of breath. Gasping into Thomas’ mouth, graceless fingers found Thomas’.

He coached Thomas through it with pretty words and sweet kisses and promises that both knew would fall flat.

Both succumbed to gravity, Thomas falling back on the comforter and Newt onto him.

After a moment or five,

" _Bloody Hell_.”

Thomas pushed at his shoulder, biting into a grin that matched Newt’s own, leaning up to press their mouths together again.  

+

Breakfast consisted of a can of corn each and half a packet of Graham Crackers to share.

Brenda had already cleared hers by the time they made their way in, eyes on the portion that Frypan pushed into Newt’s hands.

She looked from the can, to the blonde hair that stuck out at every angle in a vain attempt at taming it down with his hands.

Thomas averted his eyes from her grin, growing a sudden interest in the conversation Gally and Sonya were having.

“Eat up, Blondie,” Newt paled where Brenda’s smile widened.

“Thank you,” He ran a hand through his hair, sifting through knots with his face aflame, clearing his throat. “Any water running spare?”

“Work up a sweat, Newton?” Sonya’s sweet voice stemmed her mockery of the Brit. _Almost._

Newt didn’t seem to care, given the smile that tugged at his lips. He sat by her, knocking their knees together. “How’s Harriet today?”

Sonya’s head snapped up, her face flushed, and _Bingo_. She shushed her brother before grabbing at his hand. A smile teased her pale face as their eyes met. “You deserve to be happy so I’m not gonna tease you. _Much._ ”

Newt ruffled her hair as she batted at his chest, their hands still joined.

He looked across to Thomas, eyes bright. Thomas ducked his head, dopey smile lighting up his own.

+

“Well, why can’t half of us just fly in on this thing? Use it as a distraction?”

Brenda squeezed her eyes shut, as though the words physically pained her. “Do you want us to get seen? Killed?”

Newt narrowed his eyes. “The Berg is the fastest buggin’ thing we have, our best chance at gettin’ to Minho quickly,” He quickly added when Brenda went to speak again, “And it’s safer than your bloody bus. They won’t be able to shoot it down easy.”

Vince cut in. “A huge, grey ship that makes more noise than distance traveled? You realize this place is guarded all day and night? WCKD will know we’re coming and then your friend is screwed. You can’t tell me you want that, kid.”

“I just want to see him again,” Newt looked down to the table where his knuckles were white in his grip of the surface, defeated.

Thomas almost reveled in the silence that entered the room, everyone averting their gaze from the blonde or dropping to the floor.

“We’re gonna find him, but we _need_ to be smart about this. And I need you with me, we all do.”

Newt visibly softened under Thomas’ gaze and he nodded, smile curt.

“Look, we can’t half-ass this, this isn’t the scorch. We’ve got-”

“I get it.” Newt pressed, “It’s just- the thought of him stuck there one more day. The things they’re probably doing to him makes me sick. And we’re in here throwin’ hissy fits about who has the best plan.”

“We’ll get him out, but it can only be all of us,” Thomas’ hand found the hair at the nape of his neck, pressing in circles into his scalp, and Newt’s eyes fluttered half-closed. “Are you with me?”

“You know I am”, Dark eyes focused on Thomas’ before he turned to Brenda, his frustration clear. “You’re right.  wasn’t thinking clearly, I know that. We’re just so close.”

Brenda reached her hand over the map on the table to squeeze his forearm over his jacket sleeve. Her eyes were kind where she smiled. “He’s gonna give you hell when he sees you.”

Newt’s head dipped as he snorted a laugh, “Yeah, yeah he will.”

Sonya cleared her throat. “So about that plan - here’s a revolutionary idea that none of you dumbasses considered - why don’t we try it on foot? Keep low, mingle in the crowd? Who knows, maybe we’ll find something.”

Newt shot her a smile, teeth exposed and cheeks flushed. In the artificial light of the lamp to their left, it highlighted the veins climbing his throat.

Thick, black and millimeters from his jaw.

+

Teresa gripped Thomas in a hug as soon as she saw him.

It was funny, how little Thomas felt in that moment. He’d envisioned it for so long, the image dancing on his eyelids at night. He’d wanted nothing more, on nights in which the others were already asleep, but to reunite with her. He supposed he’d always assumed the apology would come first.

_I was wrong, Tom._

Nothing at all.

She lingered where she pulled away, pretty features twisted up in hesitation. She didn’t dwell on it, turning to look over his shoulder to Newt. Her brows drew down, worry lining her forehead.

“I’m so glad to see you. See you both. You have no idea.”

Newt stood to the side, knuckles white around his launcher, eyes narrowed in on Teresa. His voice spat venom when he spoke up, “Save the act for your chummy buddies up there. Where is he?”

She stood back, looking from Newt to Thomas, lips wavering. “Follow me.”

She fell in line with the Brit as they walked, catching his arm. “I really am sorry, Newt. What they’re doing - I thought they were our only chance, humanity’s only chance. I know that I was wrong now,” She chose her next words carefully, sifting through them, “I’m trying to fix it.”

He guffawed, “You’re doing _wonderfully_.”

+

Thomas almost didn’t recognize him.

Bruises littered every bit of skin not encased in clothing, most fading away. He felt sick at the satisfaction that settled in his stomach. Sure, they weren’t recent, but he’d still been hurt. Tortured, most likely.

Several holes lined his arm, lined by arteries that were angry and black. Griever stings.

Anger welled inside of him at the thought of Minho back in the glade, the maze, completely alone. How had Teresa allowed that?

He hoped, somewhere deep inside, that she was the reason that the bruises were faded. That she’d persuaded Janson to leave him alone, maybe.

He turned to Newt. Tears stuck to the blonde’s cheeks, his pale hands trembling at his side. He worried at his lips where a soft whimper of Minho’s name escaped.

Thomas didn’t know who moved first, or when, but suddenly each of them clasped one another as they fell to the floor. The purple that lined Minho’s eyes was overshadowed by the grin that took hold of his features, Newt’s chin on his shoulder and Thomas’ arm around his back.

Tears fell from Minho’s eyes as he laughed and Thomas knew he was in a similar state to the other boy.

Newt spoke first, wiping at his face with a shaky chuckle. “Bloody glad you didn’t croak it, Min.”

Minho pushed at his shoulder as he stood, tired eyes shining. “Slim it. How’d you keep this shank alive for so long without me?”

Thomas rolled his eyes, smile never leaving his face. “I’m starting to regret saving you already. Newt, wanna get outta here?”

Newt barked out a laugh, his hand gripping Minho’s arm still, as though he would disappear at any moment.

It occurred to Thomas then that they’d known each other years before Thomas had been thrown out of the box. Years to become best friends, brothers. He couldn’t imagine the despair that had gripped the pair of them at being separated for so long. He had yearned to be reunited with Minho daily, it being the driving force to each decision he made as leader. But Newt.. more than once, Thomas had heard him whimper his name before he woke up screaming.

_Minho found me, somehow._

Newt was looking at him expectantly, Minho wearing a similar expression.

He flushed, “What?”

Newt tugged at his hand with a shake of his head. He tapped at Thomas’ forehead. “You buggin’ out on us in there, Tommy?”

Thomas wrinkled his face at the boy, smile sheepish. “Can we get just get out of here?”

“Oh, sure. Let’s just get going ‘cause it gives _Thomas_ the willies.”

Newt huffed, pushing the both of them towards the double doors ahead. “C’mon, slintheads.”

+

Thomas gasped as he breached the surface, gulping in air as water spilled from his lips.

Minho was next, followed by Newt.

“Bloody Christ,” He heaved out, “That’s buggin’ cold.”

“Obviously,” Minho snorted an ugly laugh, knocking the blonde’s shoulder, “You hit your shucking head on the way down, hurt your tiny brain?”

Newt flipped a gloved middle finger in the boy’s face with a lopsided grin.

“Shut it, _slinthead,_ ” Thomas choked out around a laugh, despite the circumstances. It was almost like they were back in the glade again, before the doors opened forever and they were forced out. He missed it, yearned for it, despite all that happened there.

He was brought back by Newt gripping his hand, remnants of a smile taking form in something more sweet and private. He hadn’t seen that smile in weeks, months even. The only exception being this morning on the Berg. He couldn’t help but mirror him, squeezing the warm hand linked in his.

“We gotta get back to the Berg, Tommy. ‘Fore Janson and his bloody minions come runnin’,”

“Yeah, yeah,” He repeated, beginning to make his way out of the water and tapping at Minho’s forearm, “C’mon guys.”

Minho’s gaze flitted between the pair before he shook his head with a grin. “Sure thing, _Tommy._ ”

Thomas mussed up Minho’s hair as they climbed out, skin around his eyes creased. “Can you mock us when we get you back to the others?”

They didn’t get the chance.

At first, Thomas didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary - the bus coming their way was simply a distraction that Brenda had thought up. Sonya and Harriet were with her, he knew that too - to keep guard, if a speeding vehicle even needed such a thing.

The sound came first, whirling by their heads. He thought first of a child’s whistle, another vague memory that hadn’t quite escaped him, before Newt halted. The bus had hit a large boulder of rubble, the sound of shattered glass following the whistle just seconds before.

“We need to get outta sight.”

Minho ran forward, straight for the bus, shouting a repeat of Brenda’s name.

Thomas cursed, turning to assess their surroundings. The street was flooded with people in various states running in every direction but the one they were coming from. By the bus, several of Janson’s men stood staring straight at Thomas, launchers in hand.

Orange flared to the side of them, thick smoke clogging nostrils with each breath they took.

One, singular building at the opposite side of the street, a distance of maybe forty metres or so, would give them direct cover. Newt got the idea, following his gaze, and began for the car nearest to them. He pulled Thomas down by the scruff of his shirt with him as another missile whirled by their heads.

“I’m gonna head there first - make sure it’s actually safe,” Thomas struggled to yell over the sounds caccooning them, “Stay here, okay?”

Newt nodded, squeezing his hand before he ran ahead. He watched until Thomas’ figure disappeared from sight.

He gripped the door of the car sheltering him, in the early stages of rust and decay. Little remained of its original, vibrant colour, now nothing but a dull grey. It blended in with the smoke whirling around the street, just as dismal.

Newt yanked at the door, an angry groan churning from within as rust rubbed together. He thought of the walls of the glade, the maze, of ivy and stone and beetle blades.

His leg pulsed where he tried to climb up to the seat, digging his fingers into the worn leather to get up. His torso followed, and then he was up.

He lay on his back on the seat, one leg on the floor and the other out in front of him. He watched his own chest heave, his breath fogging up the windows. The car was freezing, the chill settling deep inside and teasing at the edge of his exhaustion.

He let his eyes slip shut, _just a second_ , he reasoned with himself. A second more than he’d gotten in a long time. Last night being the exception. _God_. Thomas had no idea the impact he had on him. At least, for the most part.

He was the one person that Newt couldn’t let down, refused to. Minho, Sonya and Frypan too, maybe, but not to such a level. They made him forget that he lived on borrowed time. Between tectonic plates, destined to break. It was almost funny. Thomas had referred to him as the glue that held their makeshift family together and yet here he was, split at the seams. They were the only thing that kept him somewhat together.

He blinked, stunned where his cheeks were stained wet.

And then another whistle.

It was in the far distance at first, further up the road. His first thought is Minho, had he managed to get to safety? To Brenda and their people? Or had this all been for nothing, risking theirs and his life alike for WCKD to come out on top. Again.

But it continued, growing louder and impossible to ignore. He sat up, rubbing at clouded glass with his gloves. The leather groaned under his weight.

It was heading straight in his direction.

He crawled to the door he’d crawled through, yanking at the handle. Where he drew his hand back, the plastic came with it.

He sat back, mindful of the whizzing growing ever-closer. He kicked with his good leg at the window, lips pressed together and unwilling to draw in air.

Nothing.

He tried again. And repeat after repeat.

The glass gave way after his fifth try, coming apart slow and piece-by-piece.

He threw himself out of the space, head first and feet last, every part of his body aching with the exertion. His boot caught, stubborn.

His bad leg.

The whistle ceased, and the glow was magnificent.

+

“ _C’mon, c’mon!"_

Red spilled from Newt’s lips, pale as the ash that he lay in. He’s full of it, blood where soft skin should be, leaking from tears in the material of his shirt, his pants.

His leg is torn completely, several, deep slashes ripped into tissue, metal where one bone met another. It makes bile rise in Thomas’ throat as his hands meet his chest again.

If he pulled back the collar of his jacket, he knew he would find bruises he’d made just that day.

The thought of them, now, made his body go cold.

He blew into his mouth again, once, twice, ensuring no breath escaped. He cupped Newt’s face, thumb fanning his cheekbone, blubbering like the fucking coward he was.

“Please,” He barely heard himself over the gunshots in the distance, the crackle of the fire that ate at metal behind them.

“ _Minho?! Brenda! Anybody?”_ He spat out, hearing how his voice was completely raw from overuse.

Nothing.

He repeated the process once more. He pressed his forehead to Newt’s own, blood coating the backs of his hands. Uncaring, he pressed trembling lips to the scar on Newt’s cheek.

The body beneath him twitched, followed by a quiet moan.

“Tom-?”

Thomas sat back, red-rimmed eyes wide. He gripped Newt’s hand in his, probably squeezing too tight, an anchor to them both.

Newt made to move before a cry escaped blue lips. “What-”

His eyes cast down, and Thomas could pinpoint exactly when he saw it. His eyelids fluttered as his face drew in on itself, sunken. His eyes fell to slits and he fell back onto one hand.

“Guess I’m buggered then.”

Thomas shook his head, adamant. “Give me your jacket.”

Newt shrugged it off, eyes cast on his leg. He tied it around Newt’s leg, squeezing his eyes shut at each weak whimper that he let out.

A healthy ebb of blood flooded the jacket almost immediately.

“Thomas, _listen,_ you can’t-”

Thomas cut in, pressing his palms onto the wound. “I’m not gonna let you fucking die out here.”

“Listen to me!” Newt’s eyes seemed to almost bulge out of their sockets, bloodshot and wide where he became desperate. He pressed his forehead to Thomas’ temple. “I’m not.. I’m not gonna last long enough to get out. I’ll just - I’ll just slow you down. Go find Minho.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Thomas rushed out, syllables falling over each other. He wrapped his hand around Newt’s forearm, pulling it over his shoulder before Newt made to pull it back.

“Please, Tommy,” He fell back into a sea of grey, eyes glazed, voice feeble - his last protest. “ _Please_.”

He passed out before he could get out the last word.

+

Minho fell back, his grip on Thomas’ shirt unfaltered.

They lay side-by-side, chests heaving with exertion and otherwise still on the metal floor. It vibrated beneath them, the hum of the fans beneath drowned out by their own breathing.

Thomas continued to lay where Minho stood, eyes a mirror of the fire that burned away at the roof his feet had just left, gravel integrated into the souls of his feet.

He watched long after the city was no longer in sight, until Teresa’s screams stopped ringing in his ears, his jacket stained brown and doing very little to stem the cold that seeped into his being.

It was over. All of it. Teresa was gone, WCKD was nothing but ash. Janson, Ava Paige, each of them.

Newt would likely be next.

He couldn’t get up from where he sat, even after several speeches from each of the handful of companions on the Berg. He couldn’t handle staring death in the face. Not again.

Minho found him later, the sky now light and the horizon angry and red, his own hands encrusted in blood. _Too much blood._

“You gonna move your sorry butt?”

He was exhausted too, lent back against the wall and staring at Thomas with sunken cheeks. He’d actually washed, at least, hair flat to his forehead and in clothing a size too large that he suspected belonged to Gally.

Thomas pressed chapped lips together. His voice was worn, defeated, a loss of focus. “I’m scared."

“You’re scared,” He repeated, voice as deadpan as his expression. “How the hell do you think he feels?”

Thomas’ head snapped to the side, eyes wide. He felt himself tremble, barely able to form a sentence around the tremors. “He’s-?”

“For now.” Minho’s face hardened. “Vince doesn’t know if he’ll even wake up, that’s what I heard him tell Jorge. Reckons he probably won’t make it through the night, the trauma’s probably too much paired with the flare.”

Thomas’ head spun, nausea all too familiar where it rippled in his stomach. He made to stand for him to stumble into the other boy.

Minho gripped his forearms, steadying him instantly. His gaze softened, and Thomas realized he was _crying_.

Never, in all of the time he had known Minho, in all of the things they’d fought together, had he seen Minho cry. He’d watched him battle his emotions with tear-filled eyes, of course. But never had they threatened to spill over. And yet, here he was, lip wobbling where he failed to control them. When he spoke, it was gentle.

“ _If,_ ” He swallowed, closing his eyes, “If he does survive, he’s gonna need you with him.”

Thomas nodded.

He felt numb to anything but his own pulse thrumming in his ears. It should be Newt, stood here right now, safe. He wouldn’t have left Thomas’ side, not for a second, he wouldn’t have even thought about leaving him to that rustbucket.

He heard a broken cry, and it took him a second to realize it was his own. Minho said something, eyes trained on Thomas’, but he heard nothing but white noise as his knees buckled. Only when arms encase him, pulling him back down to the cold metal his bare feet stood on, did he register the soft mumbling in his hair.

“You’re alright, man. C’mon, I’m here.”

Thomas let himself be comforted, selfishly held onto reassurance he’d been starved of for so long. Minho was rubbing between his shoulder blades as his chest wracked.

“I just- _I just left him-_ ”

Minho cut him off, his own voice wavering. “And I didn’t? Huh, Genius? We were trying to keep him safe, don’t let this eat away at you. He wouldn’t want you to.”

Thomas felt every pulse of shame where he buried his face in Minho’s neck, smelling stagnant and rich in copper.

“I get taken _one time_ and we turn into a bunch of sappy babies, figures.”

It could have been a minute or an hour later, the boys still wrapped up in each other, when someone clears their throat. Thomas still held onto Minho, a lifeline, listening to the rasp of Jorge’s voice in his attempt to be comforting.

“He’s stable now. You kids should get some rest, see him in the morning. God knows you need it.”

Minho hummed, the noise a heightened vibration in his ear. Thomas stood back, grimacing where salty skin ripped apart. “Gross.”

Minho snorted a half-assed laugh, bringing his hand up to rub at his eye.

“We really should sleep,” Minho stated, the tone of his voice showing that he knew his friend would do everything but. “He’s in the right wing.”

Thomas cleared his throat, and he flushed where he yearned to be back in his friend’s grip once again. Instead, he pushed forward, everything but his mind numb.

“Thomas,” He called out, waiting for the other boy to turn around, “I don’t blame you for any of it. Not one bit.”

+

Sonya met him in the room, her eyes red. She still gave him a smile when he passed and he attempted one back. She squeezed his arm, and he figured she needed the grounding of touch as much as he did.

“Y’know,” A haunting smile twisted up her features, “I wish I hadn’t gotten my memories back. I wish I still believed he was nobody to me.”

He looked behind her, his eyes catching only red and black and skin almost translucent. His body thrashed and jutted, possessed.

He ran back the way he came, smoke licking inside of his lungs.

+

Brenda found him in the hangar, curled up on mesh metal flooring and still covered in flaking maroon. She shook him awake, grip tight.

He woke at once, sudden, and his body ached.

“Sorry,” She spoke like she wasn’t in the slightest, and then a _grin_. “Do you remember Teresa giving you anything last night? Anything at all?”

He blinked around sleep, his chest lurching. Where was his jacket? “No, why-”

She bit down into the biggest smile he’d seen grace her face, eyes bright. She grasped at his hand, pulling him immediately down the short hall.

They reached the room that Newt was held in.

Inside, the blonde laid completely still, with the exception of the rise and fall of his chest. Vince stood by him, as did Minho and Sonya, each looking up at their arrival.

Thomas ducked his head, hands trembling at each step he took, until finally he was with him again. He took a limp hand in his own, still warm and pulsing and everything he needed to anchor him. He knew tears breached his eyes, welcomed them, uncaring.

It was only when he looked twice, did he realize the black in his veins had faded entirely. Instead, they were as blue as his own. Minho was by his side, grin so overbearing that he felt his own lips tugging upwards.

“How is this- how’s it even possible?”

Minho nodded toward Vince. The man raised his chin in acknowledgement, “It’s a long story,” At Sonya’s glare, he hurried to explain. “Teresa had planted some kind of serum in your pocket that we’d found while you were asleep. Whatever WCKD did to this kid, the serum seems to have reversed it. I didn’t want to risk it but Minho practically begged me.”

Thomas wiped at his face, chapped lips spread wide. Teresa had saved him, had found a cure in her own way. There was no way she wouldn’t have known - she’d planted it with the purpose of saving her friend.

He didn’t know how to take in his next breath, never mind reply. He ran his hand through hair thick with soot, more brown than blonde. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from him, even when Minho continued to speak, too afraid that he would blink and wake up in that hangar again.

He didn’t even realize he was sitting until Minho patted his shoulder in goodbye.

“We should all go eat, leave loverboy alone.”

Thomas caught his gaze before he left, and Minho’s smirk fell to a smile of genuine nature. He nodded his thanks and Minho shrugged it off, pulling Gally into a headlock as they disappeared from sight.

He looked peaceful.

Someone had cleaned him up, wounds nothing more than lined scrapes. Yellow climbed his jaw, angry and unforgiving. A reminder that he was alive. His leg was an awful mess of bandages and gauze and random strips of bare, smooth skin bordered by hair.

His chest rose and fell, soft sighs leaving his mouth in an even rhythm.

Thomas lay his head on threadbare blankets that covered the Brit, releasing a breath he’d been holding since he’d watched the launcher hit the car.

He gripped Newt’s hand again, and right as he gave into the lull of serenity that cloaked him, he felt fingers twitch back.

+

There’s a hand in his hair when he wakes up from a sleep he didn’t know he’d entered.

There’s a soft chuckle, just the right side of raspy, when he bolts upright.

Newt watches him with bright eyes and a bruised lip spread up in a lazy smile. “You fall asleep on me?”

Thomas nods, blindingly, rubbing at his eyes. It’s then that the events of the last couple days come back to him - the Berg, Teresa, Minho, the car, his leg. He’s alive, he’s _safe_ , smiling at Thomas like he held the cure itself in his hands.

He pushed up, wetting his lips as he did, to press his forehead against Newt’s own. He can hear only their combined breathing, Newt’s pulse beneath his fingers, but it isn’t enough.

Newt’s the one who joins their lips, slow and antagonizing and every bit of it stemming every bit of negativity that festered inside of him. It’s enough, it’s more than enough, Newt’s hand in his hair and smile against his lips.

They’re reluctant to break apart, the process drawn out more than it needs to be, though neither seem to care very much at all. Newt’s eyes are closed when he pulls away, lips still parted before they break apart into a grin. His hand is still in Thomas’ hair, sifting through soft strands with all of the time in the world.

“I thought I’d lost you, I couldn’t see you. I- I freaked out. I couldn’t do it, I’m sorry,” He whispers into the little bubble they made for themselves, a coward.

“Minho told me everything when I woke up,” Newt shakes his head, lips pressed together as his eyes filled with moisture. “Don’t buggin’ apologize, okay?”

“ _I’m here,_ ” Whispered right back, “ _I’m here_ ,” breathed into Thomas’ ear, “ _I’m here_ ,” pressed into his skin.

Thomas’ lips are on his jaw, then, a soft press that has Newt tightening his hold of dark hair. “Never do that to me again.”

“I don’t plan to, believe me,” A little laugh, “Where do you think we’re headed?”

“The promised land,” Thomas snorted, his temple on Newt’s shoulder. “Gally thinks there’s a remote island, somewhere up North, full of immunes.”

“Suppose we’ll find out soon enough,” Newt hummed, pressing his mouth to Thomas’ hair. “I don’t know if I can believe in something that good.”

Thomas’ hand found Newt’s, squeezing the digits in his hold, “We’ll figure it out. We’ll be okay.”

Newt found himself wanting, hoping, despite himself. He believed, “We will.”

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: @PAULROVlA (the I is a lowercase L because it be like that.)


End file.
